The Last Catastrophe
by girlonfiree
Summary: After the war, Katniss and Peeta struggle to move on in the wake of terrible catastrophe, and they begin to rebuild their lives. Place your bets on chance and apathy.
1. Chapter 1

Title and description inspired by the song 'Slow Life' by Grizzly Bear and Victoria Legrand. Hope you enjoy.

_Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins, and I did not write nor do I own 'The Hunger Games'. Even if I did, I would probably still be writing Fanfiction._

* * *

Today was a good day, by my standards.

I hadn't reminded myself who I was, or cried, or thought much about the Capitol, or Finnick, or the Arena, or Gale, or Prim, or even Peeta. Until now.

I had decided to spend the day walking around what used to be the town square and the Justice Building. The workers slowly beginning their day due to the early hour of the morning, setting up their equipment, drinking coffee, breathing in the dewy morning air. Casting me sidelong glances as I walked past, kicking chunks of rock with the toe of my boots. I hadn't been out in nearly a week, instead choosing to sit wordlessly on my couch, followed by sitting wordlessly at the kitchen table as Greasy Sae chatted on about the going's on around town, eating wordlessly as I tried to keep my mind on her words, wordlessly thanking her for the effort of trying to coax something out of me, and then wordlessly bathing and going to sleep. Until I woke up wrecked with tremors and sweat and words. Lots of them. Words to myself, _my name is Katniss Everdeen, my home is District 12..._, words to my mother, words to Prim, to Finnick, to Gale and especially to Peeta, who's study light would almost always be on when I woke up.

I would wake with his name on my lips, whether from screaming his name in my dreams or from foolishly wanting his arms around me when I woke up and instead finding my bed barren, only filled with sweat and tears and me, my legs tucked against my chest tightly as I taught myself to breathe again. Most nights, I would only fall back asleep when the light in his study went out, grasping to some semblance of comfort from him. The real stupidity in that lies in myself, knowing that if I asked, he would come; and hating myself for it. After everything they did to him, after everything I myself had put him through, he was still trying to make a connection with me. With his loaves of freshly baked bread being placed silently on my table every morning, every other Saturday, his garden tools digging and patting and planting fresh where there was once only dead; dead flowers and dead soil and the ashes of dead bodies scattered across my yard.

I couldn't gather enough energy to be angry with him, though. I tried. I tried to ignore the steam coming from the bread, it's aroma wafting to my nose when the crisp breeze blew through the windows. Tried to ignore how lovely the yard was beginning to look, little by little, as he worked himself through the day, only stopping to go back to his own empty house to grab a glass of water or make himself something to eat, and coming right back to me. Just like he always had come back to me, time and time again.

I knew I was holding myself back from him. I could feel it, feel it in the way my muscles clenched when I groggily awoke every Saturday morning to hear his garden tools, or the way my toes curled and my mouth watered involuntarily when I saw the bread sitting on my kitchen table. The way my eyes closed when I took a bite and slowly, carefully chewed, seeing him mixing and kneading the dough, working his hands through it gracefully, the baking and wrapping in a fresh cloth, keeping it warm as he placed it on my table. Did he linger after he brought me the bread? Check to see if I had food in my fridge, if the main sitting room was clean and tidy, if the dust sitting on every inch of the study was still there? Because there was always food in my fridge, and my sitting room was always clean and tidy, and there was always dust in the study.

Without realizing it, I had placed myself on a bench beside the small, new but bustling Hob, watching the workers with distracted eyes. How long had I been sitting there? Long enough for Greasy Sae to place a cup of hot tea beside me. Greasy Sae had been a constant in my life for the past couple of months, and I had appreciated her more than I ever said to her. Her granddaughter very often accompanied her, and being closer to my age she often tried to strike up a conversation with me. Generic topics, though. Never anything too personal and never anything that reminded me of memories I didn't want to bring up. I appreciated her, too.

Which brought me back to why I had come to the rebuilding town this morning. I had finally talked with Dr. Aurelius, and wouldn't you know it, it helped. He had advised me to slowly start integrating myself back into regular life, possibly trying a new daily schedule. Something that included a little more movement. The hunting was good, but on days when hunting wasn't needed, try a walk into town.

With the taste of bread on my lips, I had spent all of yesterday doing laundry; washing and drying clothes that hadn't been washed for weeks, things like casual pants and shirts, even skirts and blouses. Peeta had been in his backyard, adjacent to mine, sitting on his back porch with a cup of something delicious looking beside him. When he noticed me up and about he started, squinting hard almost as if he didn't believe it was actually me doing laundry. I almost stifled a laugh but thought it might look like I was laughing at him. Which I was. But he didn't have to know I thought his knitted eyebrows and wide, surprised mouth were kind of endearing.

I almost didn't _feel_ like me, which was odd. This was something I would have been doing in what seemed like ages ago, washing and hanging laundry up to dry in the backyard. It felt foreign for the first little while, the clothes pegs not fitting right in my fingers when I went to pin something up, the laundry basket feeling awkward in my hands as I unloaded the wet laundry from the washing machine. But slowly, very slowly, I felt a little normal again. I even heard myself humming. Nothing specific, just a little melody, but it felt good. My throat was dry and my voice was cracking, but I was starting to feel like myself again.

The prospect of being myself again excited me, and this morning as I showered I imagined all of the nightmares of the night before rolling off of me and going down the drain, mixing with the sweat and tears and letting my skin breathe again. I dried myself and braided my hair into a single braid, dressing in black pants, a long-sleeved shirt and my father's old hunting jacket, tying my boots almost reverently and slinging a bag filled with the remainder of the loaf of bread Peeta had baked for me the morning before, and two satchels; a satchel with some coins in it, and the parachute I had saved from the second time I had been in the arena. It was filled with only a few things; the mockingjay pin from Madge, a fresh primrose I had picked from the garden, and Peeta's pearl. All things I kept with me at all times; usually in the top drawer of my dresser, but the few occasions I went out it was kept in my pocket.

It was time to try and heal myself again. Little by little, start to put the pieces back together. And I couldn't do it alone. It was useless to try and avoid Haymitch or keep ignoring Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. It was useless to try and suppress a polite smile towards the workers around town, or not to make an effort to make old and new residents feel welcome instead of shutting myself in my house when the trains came in. And it was especially useless to ignore the only light I really had left, the only thing that I knew could have a chance of picking up the pieces of me and piecing them together again. The only thing that ever could, if I was honest with myself. _Peeta_.

There hadn't been a loaf of bread on my kitchen table this morning, but I suppose the early hour was too early even for him. Taking a few deep breaths, I sipped my tea as I got up and opened the doors to the new Hob. The doors didn't creak when they opened and the floor wasn't uneven and dirty. This was a proper market, albeit empty as it was. The first stall to the left of me was Greasy Sae's, and it lined almost the entire left side of the Hob. In front of and to the right of me were a few familiar stalls, things like hand-made jewelry, clothing, and furs and pelts made into blankets and jackets. I recognized some of the fur blankets as some of my own catch, meat I had given to Greasy Sae and pelts she had handed down to them. There were other empty stalls along the walls, waiting for occupants to come into town and set up shop. But the ones that were filled, I noticed, were old storefronts in the wealthier part of town. Stores that neighboured Peeta's family's bakery, the occupants making it out alive and setting up their old shops in the Hob.

Remembering how long it had taken the workers outside to clean up even a small part of the town square, I realized just how long it would take them to clean up the old shops, if they ever did.

Grasping my cup of tea closer, I walked over to Greasy Sae's, inspecting it closer. It wasn't just a high counter with some stools anymore. It now extended outward, a large seating area connected to the front counter. Tables and chairs set up with tablecloths, forks and knives. There was even napkins folded neatly beside each place setting, and noticing Greasy Sae's granddaughter sitting on a stool, folding cloth napkins on the counter top, I had my answer to the surprisingly neat interior of the new Greasy Sae's.

Quietly sitting on the stool next to her, I place my cup of tea down and shakily smile as she turns to stare, wide-eyed at me. I wonder why until I realize that she has never seen me out of my house and I've barely spoken two words to her, let alone smile.

"Mind if I help?"

The words come out awkwardly and my voice cracks, almost like I've forgotten how to speak. But she doesn't scoff or anything close to it, she smiles back at me and passes me a stack of napkins.

"Fold from the right to the left. Thanks, Katniss."

She says my name easily, casually, and I think it odd until I realize that for a long time, my name hasn't been said so flippantly. That my name hasn't been my own for a while now. Always on someone's lips, spoken with undeserved adoration or blind hatred and rage. Used as a tool and used as a toy. _Used, used, used._ I feel anger rise in me, not towards the young girl, not at all. I squash it down before it comes out as annoyance towards her, instead of annoyance towards myself.

"Bry? Who's that you're talkin' to?" Greasy Sae's voice comes from the back kitchen.

She walks out, preoccupied with wiping her hands on her apron but nearly trips when she sees it's me sitting at the counter.

"Just me, Sae," I say, and I almost roll my eyes at myself because I think it's quite obvious that she knows it's me. I'm so out of practice with conversation, but I can't find the wherewithal to be embarrassed about it. _Just another thing I need to work on_, I mentally note as I add it to the long, long list of things Dr. Aurelius has told me to work on.

There's a long pause where Greasy Sae just stares at me, stares at my braided hair and my clean shirt and my old, worn leather hunting jacket. And then she smiles and laughs a little, and I don't know how to respond so I take a sip of my tea and fold another napkin.

Sae senses my reluctance and changes the subject quickly. "Ah, I see you've met our Bryony!"

I look over at the girl with her ashy brown hair and light green eyes, looking every bit like Sae's granddaughter, and notice her concentration on the napkins, hunched over them like it's the most important task she's ever done. Sae dishes something from a large pot on the counter top stove into a large bowl and places it in front of Bryony.

"For goodness sake, eat, girl! Katniss, would ya like some?" I nod, not really knowing what it is but it looks and smells delicious, and I happily take a large bowl of it as I pull some coins out of the satchel in my bag. "No, no, I don't need anythin' for it. That deer you caught last week made enough for a month."

I vaguely remember shooting a large deer as I pull out the chunk of bread from Peeta and dip it in the stew. It really is delicious, and combined with the bread it quickly fills me up and warms my bones, chilled from the end of Winter cold.

"Thank you," I remember to say, and drink down the last of my tea. Sae wordlessly fills my cup again, and I glance around the Hob once more. "So... how are things going around here?"

Sae breathes a hearty sigh and crosses her arms over her chest. "Well... there has been more interest in 12 lately, so we're expecting more Dens soon."

"Dens?" I burn my tongue on the tea a little, but it warms me up and tastes so good that I don't mind at all.

"Short for denizens. It's what the Capitol calls the people who move into the Districts. Most of them don't want to go back to their old Districts. Too many bad memories. So some stay in the Capitol until they decide where they want to go to next."

I know how they feel, and I nod my understanding as I wipe my bowl clean with a piece of bread. "Could I have some more stew? ... Please."

Sae smiles and grabs my bowl, ladling two more huge scoops of stew in the bowl. "Most of the Dens that come to 12 are from 11 or 13, because they're closest. But a few come from 2, since that's where the injured are coming from. We get a train of Dens every couple of weeks."

"And the workers? Outside?" I ask, my mouth full of stew. I feel like I haven't eaten, _really_eaten and tasted the food I was eating in so long that every bite is better than the last.

"... From 2. Only a couple are old citizens from 12 who wanted to come back."

_Most of the workers are from 2_. Why does Sae say that with such reluctance? I silently fold napkins while Bryony and Sae talk about the menu for the day and shop owners come in to set up shop, stopping to take glances at me sitting at the counter. I chew on Sae's words for a minute. Most of the workers are from 2... from 2. There's something in the back of my mind, something nagging at me to think, to recognize what she's saying. Then I get it.

The reluctance. Sae didn't want to tell me the workers are from 2, because both my mother and Gale are in 2. With a rush of knowledge, I realize that the workers have been staring at me weirdly not only because I haven't been seen in town for over a month, but because they've probably been trained by Gale, healed by my mother.

Unnecessary and undeserved anger rises up in me towards the workers, jealousy turning my features hard. I can't quench it, even when I try.

I sip my tea as the door swings wide open, a gust of cool air blowing my hair. I almost choke on it when I hear his voice.

"Oh, _thank God_!"

When I turn, all I see, all I hear, all I sense is Peeta. His footsteps as he walks quickly over to me, the bags under his eyes, flashing with relief and exhaustion. I take in his clothes, the black pants and the white shirt and apron, the boots and the winter coat slung quickly over his torso, like he was in a hurry and couldn't be bothered to put it on. All I can sense is his heavy breathing and dishevelled hair, and how there's a streak of flour on his cheekbone, right under his tired eyes.

"I came over to your house this morning and went up to check on you and you weren't there. You, you... God, I just... then I went to Haymitch's to ask if he had seen you go out, _and he wasn't even awake yet_." All I can do it stare at him as he speaks quickly to me, unable to say anything back to him. What _should_I say? He turns then, before I have a chance to respond. "Sae, I was coming over to ask if you had seen her when..."

He stops talking, running a hand through his hair, still breathing heavy, breathing so heavy.

"Sorry," I manage to choke out, and for the first time in a long time I'm actually embarrassed. Embarrassed that he came to look for me and cared enough to do so, and all I can do is apologize to him.

Sae and Bryony are fully immersed in us now, and so are many of the other shop owners, stopping their setting up to look at us.

Ah, the star-crossed lovers of District 12. Looking so normal, having a simple conversation. But do they know what those star-crossed lovers are really thinking? How she can barely form words, how the blood is rushing to her head with the adrenaline of having him near and speaking to her, how all she wants to do is run from how he's making her feel, from this, but how she forces herself to stay because all she's done is run, run, run and she's tired of it. And what about him? What is he thinking? That's what she would like to know.

The anger rises in me. _This isn't a show anymore!_ I want to yell. _Stop watching us! _But I know that's not why they're staring. I know it, know that they're staring because this is most likely the first time they've seen Peeta and I in town together. Most of them probably from other districts, trying to understand us outside of the arena, but the ones from District 12 staring because it almost looks normal. Almost like we were before, but not really.

He's inspecting me now, taking in the braid in my hair and my freshly washed clothes, taking in my father's old leather hunting jacket and the tea in my hands. The stew on the counter and the last chunk of the bread he brought me yesterday sitting beside it. He takes it all in, with those tired eyes of his. He takes _me_ all in, with those relieved eyes of his. And I take him in, with all of the emotions I'm not sure I should have. With the anger and the confusion, with the relief that mirrors his own and the concentration of what I should say next. With the pain, all of the pain that I'm aching for him to see, to fix, to knead and work with his hands until it's not there anymore.

And how much I hate myself for asking more of him than I already have.

He sits down at the counter, eyes still trained on me, even as he speaks to Sae. "Do you think I could have some of that stew, as well, Sae?"


	2. Chapter 2

I hope you guys like the second chapter! :) I want to get as many chapters up as I can so that people have a chance to get involved in the story, and have more content to want to review. Speaking of which, I am so grateful to the people that favourited and put my story on their alerts. I'm working really hard on this story, and am grateful that people are appreciating it. :)

_Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins, and I did not write nor do I own 'The Hunger Games'. If I did, Katniss and Peeta probably would have made out a lot more. Which would most likely not be the best thing._

* * *

After indulging in a few more bowls of stew at Greasy Sae's, the sun had risen high enough in the sky for the rest of District 12 to begin their day. Peeta had sat on a stool right beside me and ate three whole bowls of stew, chatting with Sae. Peeta and Sae had been friends for a while now – they hadn't been in the same social circle of 12 before the war, but if I had to wager a guess, most of Peeta's friends hadn't made it to 13 like Sae, her family and most of her friends had.

With this realization heavy on my shoulders, I understood fully just how Peeta felt. If the pain of losing Prim was this horrific and excruciating, how did Peeta feel with his father, mother, two brothers and most of his school friends gone? Sure, there was Delly. But was there anyone else? No, I didn't think so.

Bryony and I prattled on about different topics; the stalls in the Hob, her sisters Calla and Senna. At one point, she complimented my braid – something that seemed odd but when I questioned her about it, Bryony shyly admitted to not knowing how to braid very well. Her sisters have always done it for her, but with all of the hustle and bustle around town she was prone to just washing and leaving her hair to dry in the breeze.

The workers from 2 streamed in for a coffee break at lunch, and I took it as a cue to leave. With my history of my inability to quench my jealousy towards the workers, I found it best to gather my things, thank Sae for the delicious meal and head back to my home. Not without reaching in my bag and grabbing a small handful of coins to silently place in Bryony's palm, though.

"We'll see you tonight for dinner, Katniss?" Sae smiles, and I nod appreciatively. Sae had been cooking the majority of my meals for the past little while, and only lately had she been cutting down her visits and instead asking if I wanted her over. Every time she asked, though, I had distractedly said yes, not really hearing the question. This time I definitely heard, and I surprised even myself when I realized that even more than the food, I enjoyed having some company in my house.

"Peeta?"

His head snaps towards me, and I almost forget what I had meant to ask him.

"Would you like to... join us? Tonight?" Silence. Assuming that I had stupidly not made myself clear enough, I elaborate. "For dinner."

He gives a light chuckle, and at my knitted eyebrows he smiles slightly, his eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

"Yes, of course. I wouldn't want to miss another one of Sae's delicious meals." There was the charm, the charm I had almost thought he forgot.

With a slight smile, I thank Sae again, wave to Bryony, sling my bag over my shoulder and leave before she can try to return the coins.

Peeta follows my footfall, and I'm surprised that he hasn't stayed back at the Hob to talk with Sae. We walk in silence back to the Victor's Village. I keep my eyes on my boots, trusting them to take me back home without having to look up and see the ruins, the ash, the shrapnel still strewn across certain areas of District 12.

When we make it back to the familiar paved walkway leading to our houses, Peeta finally speaks up.

"Haymitch asked about you."

I keep my expression neutral, but fail at trying to hide the surprise in my voice.

"_He_ asked about _me_?"

"How many other Katniss Everdeens do you know?" he tiredly says, and I look up to see his eyes trained on me, heavy as they are.

"You look tired."

Again with my inability to speak. Before I can backtrack what I hope isn't seen as an insult, Peeta lets out a yawn, covering his mouth with his hand and nodding.

"I know I do. I _am_."

"Haven't been getting much sleep?"

"Have you?"

I don't answer, and it's all he confirmation he needs. I don't look at myself in the mirrors around my house to know if there are bags under my eyes to mirror Peeta's, and when I do catch sight of myself in a mirror I shut my eyes quickly. I prefer not to know whether or not the grafted skin the Capitol patched me up with has blended into mine, whether or not you can tell that my arm was nearly blown off or how long my hair has grown. None of it interests me; I'm not much into keeping up appearances as of late.

"You should... take a nap." Even as I say it, I know it's nearly impossible. When I fall asleep at night, it's because I can't bear to be awake anymore. I purposely wear myself out so that I don't have to toss and turn through shallow nightmares before I fully fall asleep. Taking a nap in the middle of the day would be like watching those movies the people in the Capitol watch, the ones that scare you unnecessarily. I never could see the enjoyment in them, having so much terror in my own life on a daily basis that I never really understood the fun in adding to my own unending horror. Only I can't walk out of it afterwards with a stomach full of food and drinks and laugh about it, laugh it off like they can. Or _could_. I doubt that the Capitol is partaking in such frivolous activities lately.

Peeta doesn't have to shake his head, but he does anyway. We both understand the stupidity of my suggestion. We've stopped at the point on the walkway of the Victor's Village that separates into different pathways, leading to mine, Peeta and Haymitch's houses.

Not knowing how to proceed, I wait for Peeta to take the lead. I feel idiotic, just standing there. Is this really the mockingjay, the symbol of the rebellion, that can't even form words to say a simple "see you soon"? But even as I berate myself, I know it's not just my hindering speech. It's Peeta. My "see you later" had come so easily with Greasy Sae and Bryony, and yet my throat and mouth go completely dry at the thought of saying the same to Peeta. It doesn't feel like enough, it never feels like enough.

But a hug is out of the question. A simple embrace, something that many people do, comes so difficultly to us. A kiss is out of the question, I remind myself as my traitor heart urges me to reach out and... and what? Things that come to easily to others are so difficult to us. It's too much, it might always be too much.

"I'll see you at dinner, Katniss," Peeta says, attempting a small, reassuring smile. But I can see the tension around his eyes, the slight tightness in his jaw. Does he feel it, too? Can he possibly?

_Don't be so stupid_, I reason. I continue to stew, taking my time walking back to the house. I walk up the steps and unlock the door, placing my bag on the hook of the coat rack. It's then that I smell it, the sweet perfume of the dough and cheese wafting through my kitchen and making my mouth water.

Hurrying into the kitchen, I take in the sight of the freshly baked cheese buns sitting in a basket in the middle of the kitchen table, a smaller basket of fresh fruit beside it; apricots, peaches, cherries and strawberries. And a glass pitcher of something. As I walk closer and bring the pitcher up to my nose, I have to stop myself from drinking the whole thing; it's homemade lemonade, the same kind that Peeta had been drinking on his back porch the morning before as I did my laundry in my own backyard.

I sit down quickly, bringing a cheese bun up to my nose and reverently smelling the delectable bread. As I take a large bite, I know that it's useless to hold myself back. I quickly go to my cupboard, the cheese bun still in my hand, and grab a glass, making my way back to the kitchen table and pouring a tall glass of lemonade. I wash down the warn, soft cheese bun and grab an apricot, turning it in my hands for a minute to appreciate the perfectly ripe fruit, taking a bite and not even bothering to wipe the juice as it dribbles down my chin. I finish two cheese buns, an apricot, a peach, a handful of cherries and strawberries, and two whole glasses of lemonade before I sit back in my chair with a sigh, closing my eyes and feeling the fullness in my stomach. Once again, Peeta has provided a completeness only he can. And on top of it all, I still have plenty of cheese buns, fruit and lemonade left.

Why did Peeta decide to spoil me so heavily? What had I done to spur such a treat? As I take a moment to feel the fullness of my stomach and enjoy the lingering taste of lemons and sugar and sweetness and bread on my tongue, I reach to my side to grab the end of my braid and untie it, running my fingers through my hair.

"Did you enjoy your lunch?"

I open my eyes with a start, turning to see Peeta leaning against the back door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. Without even thinking about it, I smile widely at him and fold my hands on the top of the chair to place my chin on them; staring at his white shirt, jeans and boots, gardening gloves tucked into the pocket of his pants. My hair falls over my shoulders and keeps them protected from the slight chill in the air that comes in with the breeze.

"Yes, very much. Thank you," I say, and I wish I could think of something more. Peeta has provided me with a rare treat, perfectly ripened fruit, a delicious beverage and my favourite baked goods his talents have to offer. The thought he must have put into it, and I can only give him a simple thank you.

On top of that, I remember that today is Saturday and he's working on the garden.

It's never enough, what I give him. He gives me so much, and I offer him so little in return. How many times have I said thank you to him, really? Not just when he had baked me something or given me a sweet little compliment. But for everything; for the sacrifices he made and the lessons he taught me.

"You're very welcome. I planted some fruit bushes in my backyard and they were finally ripe enough to pick this morning. The apricots and peaches came from a stall at the Hob. I thought I would plant some strawberries in the garden today," he smiles, and I notice that his eyes aren't as tired as they were before. I see the steaming mug of what I assume to be coffee on the steps of the porch, and then meet his eyes again.

"Oh... yeah, sure. That would be great, thank you."

Another thank you. I might as well start thanking him now, starting with the little things.

As the day goes on into early afternoon, I busy myself with cleaning up the kitchen and putting the fruit and lemonade Peeta brought me in the fridge. I leave the cheese buns out on the kitchen table, knowing that I will have most likely eaten most of them by late afternoon. Around the time Peeta usually goes to his house for lunch, I take out the fruit and lemonade again and pull out a large white plate that my mother stored in the cupboard for special occasions, like for when we had friends over or Prim wanted to have a tea party.

Pushing those thoughts out of my mind, I cut up the fruit and arrange it with a few buttered cheese buns on the plate, pouring another glass of lemonade and bringing them out to the porch. I place them on a table beside a set of chairs, feeling odd for some strange reason. I feel almost out of place, doing something like this for Peeta, and it makes me feel guilty that doing something nice like he had done for me felt strange.

Looking up from the garden, Peeta sees me leaning against the porch railing and smiles. He takes his gloves off and carefully puts them down on the porch steps as he brushes his hair out of his eyes.

"I, um... I brought you lunch?" I offer awkwardly, phrasing it as a question because if I'm honest, I am slightly nervous that he'll scoff it away and reject my attempt at being a "more inviting Katniss", as Dr. Aurelius says. Not that Dr. Aurelius told me to prepare lunch for Peeta or invite him to dinner – he had told me to try and connect with the people who made me feel safest, the people I could trust. And without a doubt, I had known Peeta would be the first person I could try and connect with. But only if he would accept my strange attempts at pleasantries.

He just stares at me with tight eyes, eyeing how I shove my hands deep into the back pockets of my pants to keep them from knotting together. He doesn't know that, of course.

Peeta picks up a strawberry and slowly brings it to his mouth, and this all feels too intimate so I avert my gaze and stare at the toes of my boots. _He's eating, for goodness sake. He's just eating. What's so bad about that?_

I stay standing as he settles into a chair, watching me as he thoughtfully eats. I stare at anything but him; my shoes, my hands, the garden. Especially the garden, for it was hard to ignore just how lovely it was looking. The late winter would soon be moving into early spring, and the plants looked like they were just begging to sprout and grow. The sky was a mix of grey clouds and blue sky, cool breezes mixing with small bouts of sun. A nice day, by all accounts.

"Your hair... it looks nice."

Meeting Peeta's eyes, I clear my throat carefully before speaking. "I... all I did was braid it."

Smirking at my obvious inability at conversation, Peeta stands up and makes his way over to me. Had I forgotten how big he was? How when he stands in front of me, his strong shoulders provide shade from the sun. Maybe I had just forgotten how small I myself was. I hadn't seen my reflection in months, so I wouldn't be the person to ask about my appearance.

Peeta searches my face for what seems like it could have been hours. A breeze rolls in. Then slowly, very slowly, almost like one would to a small animal, Peeta softly brushes my hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ears.

He mutters something, too low for me to hear. I don't attempt to decipher it. I'm too caught up in Peeta, my mind racing to calculate his emotions and my emotions and how I should react to him.

"Stop. Just... don't think. Just do."

I swallow as the lump in my throat builds, knitting my eyebrows together. Just do? Is he suggesting I act on impulse, because if he knew my impulses right now he wouldn't be suggesting I do so.

_What am I supposed to do with this? _I think, my mind still racing. I'm very aware of that fact that at any moment, either of us could snap; Peeta could fall into another nightmarish episode, and I would be standing helpless, not sure at all what to do. Too tired to comprehend working through the anomalies of Peeta and I, I put my hands against his chest and push slightly, sighing hard and closing my eyes, taking a step back from him. It's not a good idea for him to want this, for me to want to indulge him. Us star-crossed lovers from District 12 have always been doomed, from the very start. Did we ever really have a chance?

"I'm sorry, Peeta. I-"

"No. Fine, it's fine. I just thought..." He laughs humorlessly, and I frown.

_You fool, _I insult myself. The hurt that flashes in his eyes is undeniable. And there it is. I've hurt him, yet again. Will I ever stop? _Coward. Fool. Moronic. Senseless. Laughable. _I berate myself, because it's truly the only reaction I can manage.

"No, I just meant to..." My mouth opens and closes, and I feel a headache coming on because I don't remember talking this much in the past month let alone in a single conversation and my voice is grating on my nerves. It sounds like I've been yelling rather than not speaking.

"It's fine, Katniss."

The conversation is over, and Peeta jogs heavily down the steps, putting his gardening gloves back on. I watch him work silently for a few more minutes, the frown still etched on my face. But I know I'm not going to say anything more, so I collect the empty dishes and bring them to the kitchen, rinsing and washing them if only to busy my hands.

I clean the house as Peeta works on the garden, even though there's nothing else to clean. _Yes, there is, _my mind reminds me. It's never going to get done, that study door is never going to open. How am I to know that Snow hasn't left me some sick, twisted reminder of himself? Maybe it's full of those pungent roses, or he's covered it in blood. I can feel the bile rising in my throat, and sit on the couch with my head in my hands. I swallow hard a few times and take deep breaths, because I know that the study is empty except for the dust on every inch of it, and Snow is dead.

I get up to grab a glass of water, and I stop in my tracks when I walk around the couch to find Peeta leaning against the wall leading into the main sitting room. He looks me up and down and breathes in deeply through his nose. How long has be been standing there? I look at him, too and am surprised to find his previous outfit has changed to a dark blue button down, black slacks and dress shoes. He buttons his cuffs, and I wonder when he went home to change. Looking down at my own clothing, my dark pants and hunting boots look odd paired with his crisp attire.

"You go up and change. If Sae and Bryony come by while you're changing, I'll let them in."

I nod and quickly make my way up the stairs and into my bedroom. Thank goodness I had thought to wash all of my clothes, because I now had quite a large wardrobe to choose from, courtesy of Cinna. Not that I have much use for most of the fine garments anymore. I choose some black, wide-legged slacks and a loose-fitting navy blue blouse. The flat black shoes I tuck my feet into are comfortable despite being brand new. I hadn't even taken them out of the box. I leave my hair down, not really bothering to do much else with it.

Walking down the stairs, I re-think my attire. What was I dressing up for? Peeta is stoking the fire in the fireplace, and he looks up when I reach the bottom of the stairs. I uncomfortably cross my arms over my chest when I realize that of my own volition, I had coordinated our outfits. Peeta's smirk elicits a reaction out of me, but before I can respond to him the doorbell rings. With one long glance at Peeta, a small frown still on my face, I swing the door open and am immediately glad I had dressed up a little bit.

Sae and Bryony smile widely at me and bring in two baskets of food, heading straight for the kitchen table. Sae has dressed in a crisp grey-blue dress with ruffles stitched into the bottom hem, her short hair tied back in it's usual ponytail. Bryony is dressed in a similar coloured dress, with small cap sleeves and lace detailing on the hems, her shoulders covered by an off-white cardigan.

"Why, don't you girls look lovely this evening. What's the special occasion?" Peeta welcomes them warmly, coming over to me and placing his hand on the small of my back. Can he sense the tension in every inch of my body? I don't know how to have a simple conversation about the weather, let alone be a hostess to a dinner party.

"You look great, Peeta! And your shirt is so pretty, Katniss," Bryony excitedly exclaims, and I'm suddenly very aware of the fact that Sae and her family's lives drastically changed after they moved back to 12. Being one of the most established shop owners at the Hob, Greasy Sae and her family were on average wealthier than my own family and I, but not by much. Many a day I had seen Bryony and her sisters outside of the Hob in the standard District 12 attire, playing with a small toy or just singing and dancing together. Making the most of what they had. But with their new role as the primary food foundation of the town, the Capitol had provided what they could to Sae and her family, as well as the other residents of 12. Aside from Peeta, Haymitch and I, our houses still being intact, the Capitol had sent workers early on to clean up and build new houses, much better than the ones District 12 had lived in before. Running water and showers, fully working kitchens and bathrooms. And Bryony, having been so happy with what she had before, was probably chock full of excitement now, being at a house in the Victor's Village with her brand new dress.

Before I could begin to stop them, the threat of tears begins to sting my eyes. "It's great to have you both here," I try to smile as warmly as Peeta had done and fail, my smile coming out as more of a shaky simper. Peeta's hand stiffens on the small of my back, and he gives me a small nudge to move forward and take a seat at the kitchen table.

"Get ready for a feast!" Sae booms, and I laugh in surprise. Peeta sits on my right side and Bryony comes to sit on my left, beaming up at me as she sets up a cutting board in front of her and begins to help chop vegetables.

I rest my hands in my lap, twiddling my thumbs until I feel Peeta's hand come to rest on both of mine. He doesn't squeeze my hands or try to hold them, he just places his hand on top of mine, as a reassurance. Glancing up at him, he shares a smile with me. A secret smile, only meant for my eyes and only meant for my heart. I involuntarily smile back at him, and I feel his thumb gingerly rub the side of my hand.

Maybe it was erratic of me to assume, but I really am looking forward to this dinner.


End file.
